


Mirror

by Puniyo



Series: Casting Shadows [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Dark Stuff I'm warning you, Freeform, M/M, Magical Realism, Psychological Drama, crude language, incest perhaps, masturbation I think, mirror play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo
Summary: In the darkest hour, a mirror is what Yuzuru needs for relief.





	Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers, who would guess that a second installment would come so soon? I have always been fascinated by controversies and incest is one of them. This is a twisted attempt to play with that concept and the warning is here.
> 
> This work is not meant to offend anyone and again, it is an exploration of darker sides of one's character and persona. I like fluff and writing it, but I need to graduate and challenge new grounds. I hope you do understand such. 
> 
> The usual disclaimer applies. In no ways the content here reflects the person mentioned. All this is purely a product from my tormented mind.

He points at the full-size mirror in his room, large and reflecting all his nakedness, and he pulls the imaginary trigger with his middle finger, his own voice supplying the gunpowder shot noise, so typical of cowboys’ movies and criminal dramas. He can swear he can hear the empty shell of the cartridge hit the floor and the lead bullet hit the target – right between his eyebrows.

_The perfect shot. Gone to heaven. Didn’t like it. Gone to hell. I won’t leave._

A mirror never lies. Never. He sees his black, disheveled hair, not slick anymore, after _he_ had pulled the loose strands and dug the nails into his scalp while pushing his cock further into his mouth, that made him gag and unable to breathe but also wanting to eat him whole, inch by inch, sucking the pulse and the musk on its tip, while being slapped by his balls on the chin in an uncontrolled rhythm. He also sees the bites on the moles below his ear and neck, distinctively bruised, like being marked by _him_ and the burning red lines around his neck where the collar is no more. He resisted and _he_ punished him, so he resisted even more, until the knot was too tight and he almost asphyxiated, not with lack of air but with the orgasm that burst from toying with death. He sees his bare chest, pale and protruding ribcage, the ironically unblemished skin of a virgin being covering his rotten heart already sold to the devil who could break him the best.

 _He_ praised his nipples, lavishing them with attention and even more when _he_ pierced one with the gold stud, another mark of ownership. He sees hands in his thighs, more than two, more than one hundred, all pressing down on his muscles to force his legs open, a wider angle, he would have done the same without the hands, and fingers, long and slippery, penetrating him with the greatest famine, more than two, faster and stronger, more, more, more, more, more, more, and _more_ , until he cried, he whimpered, he moaned, he asked for more and more, more, more, _more_. His sanity was in his prostate and his reason in the walls that clenched those fingers, and he wanted nothing but sex, because sex was him and he was sex, and sex made him alive and killed him altogether. He sees the river of white that gushes out from his opening and the tackiness stings his nerves and his sense of smell – it’s alcohol, Dior, mint, Boss, leather, Rabanne, lotus, Armani – that floods the floor with essence from all the others but never _his_.

_You are a monster Yuzuru._

_Monster._

_‘Don’t go.’_

_Abomination._

_‘Come inside. Dirty me.’_

_Monster._

_‘Watch me come for you.’_

_Yuzuru._

_‘Fuck me. Oh yes, you, and you, and you. One, all at the same time.’_

_Monster._

_‘Break me. NOW!’_

He hits the mirror as hard as he can, his own hand drawn into a fist and he punches the crystalline surface. He punches and punches, coordinated with his mental clock, until the jabs become disjointed, _I’m not like this_ , and he continues the blows in hysteria, _I’m not a monster_ , until tiny cracks appears on the mirror, _I’m normal_ , cracks that distort his vision, _Don’t you love me like this?_ , and the cracks morph into large diagonal fissures, from one corner to the other – a broken mirror.

He looks into the mirror again and he is a cubist painting. An eye on the forehead, three sets of lips, wrist connected with an elbow, the navel dislodged on the side leaving a gap between the golden nipple and his hips, toes on the ankles and ankles on the knees.

_You really are a monster Yuzuru._

He closes his eyes and he laughs like a maniac, each wave from his vocal chords higher and higher. A madman and his music. He can’t stop laughing even when tears flow from his numb eyes and they spill past his eyelids and down his cheeks.

‘Do you really want to kill me?’

He opens his eyes, the mirror intact, whole and unbroken, and his reflection is him but not Yuzuru at the same time, a younger version of himself, an alternative version. He stares at the untouched and unsoiled body, so pure and vestal, like an angel lost in its way home. The voice was his voice too, the same pitch and timbre.

‘Don’t hurt me _brother_ , please.’ Which after travelling through the space between their bodies translated into _hurt me with all your might_.

He stares at his own reflection, an identity on its own, and the trapped naked Yuzuru moves delicately, arms extended and pressed onto the silver glass, his Adam’s apple too and his manhood, half hard and arching upwards, towards the stomach. The image smiled like and angel and smirked like the devil. It blushed like it was the first time and inviting him like a prostitute.

It made Yuzuru desire him. Desire himself. He felt sick.

‘I love you, _brother_.’

Yuzuru takes a step closer and touches the mirror tentatively, as if he would cut himself in the invisible cracks on the smooth surface. He caresses the earlobe, an area he knows he is sensitive, and both he and his reflection shudder at the contact. He feels the bony joint of the clavicle and the depression where his sternum begins, again, the touch reverberating in both their bodies. It’s macabre witchcraft, but he is the one to stir the cauldron and he wants to experience more.

He licks the plump, poppy lips on the mirror. They are not his, but they are soft and reminds him of cotton balls and vanilla petals. He licks desperately for that taste and he is soon kissing his own reflection, his teeth grazing on the fleshy rims. Yuzuru kissing Yuzuru. He shivers at the sudden rash of desire injected in his veins as his own reflection sucks his tongue, their saliva mixing into a messy exchange of fluids. He never knew _he_ tasted so good, ecstasy and opium, a new drug that only he could make and only he could consume.

The silver glass burns into his skin but he is so dazed by his own beauty that he wouldn’t mind to disappear that moment. He continues kissing his own _Yuzuru_ , with more wanton and passion, and he thrust his completely hardened and leaking manhood forward. The mirror is cold but he is not thrusting into the lifeless object. He is ramming into his reflection, who is spurting and pouring obscenities every second with his name, _their_ name, _Yuzuru!_ , and it’s like being entered himself and being filled to the core. He knows what, where and how _he_ likes to be ravished, so he aims for that magical spot of lustful agony. His legs shake but he keeps the movements and the pace, if not more determined. The moans from his reflection, in _his_ own voice, drives him to an edge he never stood upon and _fuck_ , yes, fuck _you_ , fuck _me_. He doesn’t know who is speaking but carnality is a beast and he has offered his entire soul to be enslaved.

He comes with one last painful thrust, so painful that maybe death would be welcoming. He swallows the cry, letting it stay lodged in his trachea, embalming the moment. His semen is all over the glassy surface and he spreads it apart even more, to the muscles of the abdomen and up the torso of his reflection, as if painting his own sensitive skin, to the full, round and abused lips he kissed before, tasting his own essence without ever drinking it.

‘You really are a monster, _brother_.’

Yuzuru throws his head back and laughs languidly, nonchalantly and contained, almost sounding like a sob. He looks again at the mirror. The cracks are there, broken shards and fallen triangles. The reflection is gone too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you managed to finish this, thank you from the bottom of my heart and feedback is appreciated <3


End file.
